


watching the waiting

by lady_mab



Series: inside every open eye [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_mab/pseuds/lady_mab
Summary: There's a shuffle, a muffled grunt, and then a beat later Melanie trundles into the kitchen. "You're awake early.""Couldn't sleep.""Bad dream?" She stays in place and holds out a hand.Georgie crosses to her, watching the slight shift in Melanie's expression as their palms touch, and pulls herself into the embrace. "I don't know."Melanie hums and presses off-center kisses to Georgie's temple until she locates the little dip just above the ear. "Don't know if it was bad, or can't remember?""I don't know if it was a dream."(what the girlfriends week day 3 - fantasy)
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Melanie King
Series: inside every open eye [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773814
Comments: 16
Kudos: 55
Collections: What the Girlfriends Week 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All I know is this  
> There are times when, to me  
> You seem to glow from within  
> And I wonder how this moment could possibly be  
> And how much was of my choosing  
> \- Wye Oak's "[Watching the Waiting](https://youtu.be/QlbmiLcX2sQ)"

Georgie knows something is wrong when the dream changes.

Before now, the dream has always been the same. It was a safe space that they created together, her and Jon. An alcove from the university's library—that one summer day, light golden and buttery pouring in through the windows. Their feet bare on the dusty, wine-red cushions, layers of robes shed in the stifling heat.

They recreated it together, to remind them of that moment, to always have a piece of that timeless feeling tucked away.

Even after graduation, after their fights and their breakup, it was always their space.

And now it is gone.

She steps into the dream and her bare feet find loam. She breathes in, and it's not the memory of old manuscripts and ink stained fingers. It's the sharp smell of decay, of water just shy of freezing over, of the pinprick stars dancing in the night sky.

Georgie takes a tentative step forward, then another, picking her way through the branches that reach for her shift and hair with thin, spindly fingers.

The place feels like death, and so she treads carefully.

Ahead, just out of sight, there is a splash of water — the sound of someone losing their balance, falling to a knee. And just beneath it, a breathy gasp so faint that she almost doesn't hear it.

But it's a voice she knows intimately, and fear lances through her.

"Jon—" His name falls from her lips, desperate, terrified, and she lunges forward. "Jonathan!"

The only answer is the water lapping against the banks of an unseen pond, and she claws her way through the trees keeping her away.

She breaks through the trunks and stumbles to a stop as she crashes into the pond. The waves lap at her knees, and she lifts her gaze to follow the ripples as they stretch towards the moonlit center.

The creature looms over Jon's prone figure, hands pressed reverentially to his forehead and collarbone to hold him just beneath the surface of the water.

He doesn't struggle against the grip. 

The scream builds up in the back of her throat. The magic comes to her fingers when called, far faster in this space. Both of them erupt from her before she can stop either. 

The tops of the trees bend back from the breeze, the water pulses at the banks, but everything else remains still. It is not her dream. She cannot influence this place. 

The thing is all eyes — made of rough and jagged lines, of ink-smooth strokes, of a finger traced through dust. Nothing more than a collection of sketches and marginalia, shifting and winking in and out of focus. Its shoulders hunch as all eyes swivel to focus on her. 

Wide and unblinking, and they _know_. 

The eyes read every line of her, pull her apart word by word until she is nothing more than a series of letters barely able to form a sentence. 

From beneath the surface of the water, Jon's hand shoots up. 

It grasps the creature's forearm, and its attention hones in on him. 

Georgie can't see Jon's face beneath the churning waves, but she can see the glow — that golden glow that has always been his, always theirs in the sunlight of that library alcove. 

She cries out, perhaps his name, perhaps a curse or a promise, and all at once the eyes of the creature shut and the pond is empty. 

And she wakes up. 

* * *

The ragged breath threatens to turn into some other sound. Another scream, or a sob. She blinks away the tears and tries to remember just where she is. 

Her room. 

Her home. 

Melanie, asleep at her side. Melanie, reacting to the motion by slinging an arm around her waist and snuggling in closer, but not bothering to wake up. 

Outside, the forest hums with predawn life. Birds coming to wake. Foxes retreating back to the safety of their dens. 

At the foot of her bed, the small dragon lifts his head. He gives a sleepy chirrup which quickly becomes a yawn, exposing the rows of sharp teeth within. 

Georgie gingerly separates herself from Melanie and rolls out of bed. She only gets a sleepy grumble as resistance as the other woman sprawls over to take up more space. 

Her toes tap against the woven rug, memorizing the feel of it to chase away the lingering prickle of the forest in her dream. She holds out a hand as she heads to the door, and the dragon jumps into her grip to climb up her arm and perch on her shoulder. 

"We should check on him, shouldn't we, Admiral?" Georgie says, and the dragon nuzzles the side of her head. "Just in case." 

She moves into the kitchen, coaxing the embers of last night's fire back to life. Melanie will be awake soon, once she notices that the bed is empty and the pillow is cold, and will want tea. 

Georgie settles the kettle over the fire, then sits back on her heels to stare at the charred bricks of the back wall. The flames grow hotter, and the image twists, but for just a moment, she swears that there is a single smudged eye staring back at her. 

"Georgie?" Melanie's voice, thick with sleep and uncertainty. 

She jumps to her feet, heart hammering in her chest, and the Admiral makes a small sound of protest as he digs in his claws to keep hold. "In the kitchen." She tries to busy herself, to ignore the prickle on the back of her neck. 

There's a shuffle, a muffled grunt, and then a beat later Melanie trundles into the kitchen. "You're awake early." 

"Couldn't sleep." 

"Bad dream?" She stays in place and holds out a hand. 

Georgie crosses to her, watching the slight shift in Melanie's expression as their palms touch, and pulls herself into the embrace. "I don't know." 

Melanie hums and presses off-center kisses to Georgie's temple until she locates the little dip just above the ear. "Don't know if it was bad, or can't remember?" 

"I don't know if it was a dream." 

This gives her pause, and Melanie slowly pulls back. Her brow furrows, and she trails the tips of her fingers down Georgie's arm before wrapping them around Georgie's wrist. "What do you mean?" 

Georgie studies Melanie's face, debating how much to actually tell. Then she reaches out and traces the tip of a finger down the bridge of Melanie's nose. "I think something has happened to Jon." 

The change is immediate. The concern drops away and it is an expression just shy of an eye roll. "Oh." 

"Mel, it could be nothing—" 

"No, the problem is, it probably _is_ something. It always is with him." Melanie lifts a hand, and it hovers just above her eyes. Then she huffs and fusses with her tangled mane of hair. "And everyone is going to get caught up in it, and it won't end well." 

Georgie knows she's right. Knows better than anyone. But she can still feel the ice cold water of the pond piercing through flesh and bone. The weight of the death in that place. "I don't think it is that simple this time." 

Melanie sighs, and this time gives into the eye roll — her whole head completing the motion to emphasize just how she feels about the situation. "Whatever I say won't stop you." 

It won't, of course. But she would at least like Melanie's understanding, and not just grudging acceptance. "I am going to make you tea. Will you be alright for breakfast?" 

"I'll wait for you before eating. You're going to try and magic up an explanation for what happened, aren't you?" 

"I have to." 

"I'll wait," Melanie repeats, and in that Georgie can hear the softness that she was looking for. 

She leans in and lets her nose bump against Melanie's, patient as the other woman's hand finds her jaw, as she places the first kiss just shy of Georgie's lips. Then another, closer, and the third, perfect. "Thank you." 

"Don't take too long, I can't promise that I won't start making a mess in the kitchen out of spite, though," Melanie says, though Georgie can tell that she doesn't actually mean it. 

Georgie pulls the kettle from the fire as soon as the water starts to boil, and she distracts herself with preparing the tea. 

Behind her, Melanie holds a one-sided conversation with the Admiral, responding to all his chirps with a detailed explanation of the day’s training routine. Melanie glances up when Georgie’s hand lands on her shoulder, and she waits patiently for her hands to be guided around the mug. “Do you want me to sit with you while you work?” 

“It will be very boring,” Georgie says in a way that’s more of an apology, because no matter if she even does tell Melanie ‘no’, the other woman would ignore her anyway. 

Melanie gives a rueful smile, her gaze just over Georgie’s shoulder. “Sitting around and watching a whole lot of _nothing_ is kind of my thing these days. Don’t deprive me of the joy of experiencing that nothing with you.” 

Georgie rolls her eyes, though she’s certain that Melanie will be able to hear the amusement in her voice when she responds with, “You always know how to say the sweetest things.” She takes Melanie’s hand in her own and leads the way to her workshop in the back of the cottage. The Admiral’s claws scrape against the wooden floor as he follows after. 

Once she ensures that Melanie is seated and content with her tea, the Admiral curled up in her lap, Georgie stands to begin the ritual. 

A single chalk line bisects the room, separating the pieces of her work from the rest of her life. Should anything happen, or any of the spirits she communicates with get loose, then they would at least be contained. Taking a deep breath, and whispering the short incantation to open the seals, she steps carefully over the line. 

Even though Melanie can’t see the physical ward, she’s told Georgie that she can still sense where the halves meet. “Don’t worry about me accidentally wandering into it,” she had said. “I get the chills whenever I’m too close.” 

It is almost like stumbling back into the ice cold pond from her dream, and Georgie gasps at the suddenness and force of it. There is always a change in temperature, in the tone of the room and the way sounds reflect. Normally, she can smell the lingering remains of incense or the crushed herbs from a spell, and they soothe the jump into her workshop. 

But this is something else altogether, cut off from those little comforts she has always maintained. It is a plummet downward, the memory of the eyes swiveling to look, of Jon’s golden glow swallowed by the darkness. 

Fingers trembling, Georgie lights the first candle. 

It helps, a bit. 

The second candle makes things feel a bit more normal. 

Georgie mutters the pieces of the spell as the last two candles are lit, and she places them at the cardinal points of the circle carved into the workbench. She builds the request piece by piece. Reaches out to the spirits that lurk just beyond the veil that know her, that humor her. Offers them gifts of bone and blood, of sigils carved into wax to strengthen them from a breath to a breeze. 

Behind her, voice muffled by the barrier between them, Melanie intones, "Oh, great spirits of the beyond!" in a vaguely mocking voice. "Please go find that dumbass Jonathan Sims. Fucking around with forces he can't control!" Not enough to be a disturbance, or to be heard by any of the spirits that do actually heed the summons, but Georgie's lips twitch in response anyway. 

_Please_ , Georgie whispers as the first ghost takes form — a young and jagged whisp of a figure whose fingers trace curiously at Georgie's hand. _Please, I need to find him._

The ghost makes a gesture, a wordless request on broken vocal cords, and Georgie sighs on instinct. From exhaustion or relief, she's not too sure. 

The southern candle flickers with her exhale, and the ghost nods appreciatively. It blinks out of existence, though Georgie can still feel the needle-point pricks of cold on the back of her hand where the ghost touched. A tether, to guide it back. 

A part of her knows that Melanie is right — that there is every likelihood that this is just Jon getting into something over his head because of his own curiosity. Sticking his nose where it doesn't belong, and only barely able to count himself lucky it doesn't get chopped off by the good grace of the people he keeps as companions. 

Melanie had been one such guardian until recently. She keeps the arrow head that she used to sever the connection on a cord around her neck. 

Georgie thought she had long since stopped being one, but a piece of her is still always with him. In that golden afternoon together, where they can sit and talk. Where they learned how to be _people_ again, and how she will always still help him. 

There is a soft tug at the pit of her stomach, the sensation of the breath being pulled from her lungs in one lurching climb. The points on the back of her hand turn to ice, to daggers, and she shivers at the ghost's return.

 _I cannot find him,_ it says in her voice, with her breath. _The one you search for is where I cannot go._

The trembling wracks her entire body. "Try again," she says out loud, and behind her, she can feel Melanie's attention. "Please, try again."

The pain her hand intensifies, and her breath turns into white clouds as she struggles to keep the panic at bay.

'Where I cannot go' is not a reassurance. If he was in the realm of the dead, then Georgie could save him easily.

He's passed through the earth once before and came through the other side. He's gone through web and fire, through the vast sky and the dark night. Every time, _every time_ he has come out the other side — changed, but still Jon.

Still her stubborn, troublesome Jonathan.

(She doesn't blame Melanie for leaving. She only wishes that she could be stronger to refuse him the next time he needs help, and yet. _And yet_.)

The ghost swirls back into the space at her side, stronger than before, consuming more of Georgie's breath and warmth to travel those farther distances. _Believe me when I say that there is no trace of him._

"Martin, then." That's not how the spell goes, and the ghost just gives Georgie a placid look. She scrambles for the components, dipping a finger into the wax of the northern candle. "Find this one," she orders, and presses the rune in with her fingernail.

She can hear Melanie's footsteps as the other woman approaches the warding line.

"What's wrong?" Melanie's voice wavers, though there is also anger there.

Georgie feels the same, though she's struggling to keep her own feet rooted in her workshop. "He's in trouble."

"Which one?" Melanie has a faint fondness for Martin, though perhaps it's closer to a degree of pity than any real compassion.

She shakes her head. "I don't know. Both? I don't know."

Melanie remains where she is, but the Admiral easily crosses the bound.

He wends his way between Georgie's legs, giving a soft, reassuring chirp.

This time, the weight of the ghost pulling on her feels like lugging a heavy chest up a mountain, and Georgie sags beneath the gravity of it.

 _Untethered,_ the ghost answers, and when it looks at Georgie, there is a hunger in there that wasn't before. The gaze slides easily to Melanie — and even though she can't see the ghost, her hand goes to her hip, to the sword that isn't there. _I can taste where he has been, but it is stale._ Against reason, the ghost shivers. _I do not like the taste he leaves behind._

"So they are both gone?" It is getting harder to breathe, and the fear swells in her chest — pushing against her lungs to suffocate her. "You can find no trace?"

_None._

Georgie snuffs out the southern candle between her thumb and forefinger, and the ghost vanishes. Then the northern, and she is able to breathe a little easier.

The two remaining candles extinguish themselves, and Georgie tenses as the smoke curls into the middle of her summoning circle.

The tendrils meet, twining together into a thin rope.

More smoke rises from the candles, strand after strand until hovering before her, staring directly at her, is a single eye.

Melanie yelps in pain, and Georgie whirls around to see her stumbling back, clutching her hands to her face as she doubles over.

Georgie rushes to her side, only barely remembering to close the wards out of habit. "Melanie. Mel, love, what is wrong?"

"I thought I was _done_ with that shit!" Melanie growls, her palms pressed against her eyes. "I thought it couldn't find me here!"

"Melanie, what happened? What did you—" She cuts herself off before she can ask.

The anger rips its way out of Melanie's mouth in a ferocious yell, and Georgie only barely manages to catch her before she crumbles to her knees. "That eye. That _fucking_ eye."

The fear is back, and Georgie's heart leaps into her throat. The being made of eyes, pushing Jon into the lake. That lingering feeling of being seen, of being _known_.

But before she can clarify what it means, although she has a sinking suspicion she knows exactly _what_ it is, Melanie lifts her head and glares — over Georgie's shoulder, at her workbench, at where the lingering trails of smoke had formed the single, unblinking eye.

"The Watcher," she spits, the word a curse in her mouth. Her head shifts, and her attention slides back to Georgie. "Alright, you win."

"W-what?"

"We go find Jon." Melanie reaches out, patting up Georgie's arms until she finds the shoulders to use for leverage.

Georgie follows her to her feet, then as Melanie storms out of the work room — the Admiral close on their heels. "You'll help me find him?"

"Yeah." Melanie's fingers skip along the bumps and dips of the plaster on the walls before catching onto the door frame of the bedroom and swinging inside. "So that when I find him, I can _kill_ him for lying to me."

She doesn't know if she should laugh or cry, and the hollow feeling inside of her does little to help. "You don't mean that."

Melanie throws her hands into the air and paces in a tight circle, very nearly colliding with the hope chest at the foot of the bed. "Georgie, I had to _blind_ myself to be free of that wretched place. I trusted him."

"You don't know—"

"What? _What_ don't I know?"

Georgie's hands clench into fists, and she counts up to ten, then fifteen when that wasn't enough, then takes a steadying breath. "It wasn't looking for you."

Melanie snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. "Yeah? And what makes you so sure? That it didn't just use you and your obsession with saving that worthless man?"

With a weary breath, Georgie steps into the room. She stops as Melanie tenses, waiting for the shoulders to drop. "We each have our part."

Melanie gives another snort.

"I think it was looking for Jon."

There's a beat, then Melanie lifts an eyebrow. "It should know exactly where he is."

Georgie starts to shake her head, then realizes that it's a meaningless gesture. "I think he went somewhere that not even the Watcher and the Eye can find him."

Laughter explodes from Melanie, and it's such a sudden shift in tone that it catches Georgie off-guard. "Oh, he would. He’s got a source of untapped power at his fingertips and he goes to find a bigger one. So it's a race, then?"

She doesn't like to think of it that way, especially not with Jon's life on the line, but Melanie's grin is one that welcomes such a challenge.

"Alright then, Georgina Barker. If it means getting to have one over the Beholding, then I'm all in."

"Don't sound so excited, a man's life is at stake."

"Let Martin worry about that, it's not my job anymore." Melanie crosses the remaining distance between them and collides with Georgie before pulling her into a hug. "I'm here to protect you now."

This time, Georgie gives in to the small huff of laughter as she lifts her hands to frame Melanie's face. "You always know how to say the sweetest things," she says before leaning in for a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

The dream starts off the same. 

Georgie stands in the forest, and she can feel the weight of the place like a physical presence. Unseen spirits cloud the air and bunch in close beside her. She pushes her way through densely packed branches and trunks. 

Everything is silent this time. It is not a repeat of the first dream. Jon won't be there in the lake. 

It doesn't stop her from hoping that he will be, though. 

She steps through the last of the foliage and stops at the edge of the water. 

The man that turns to look at her is not Jon, and he is not made of eyes. There is something familiar about him, though she's quite certain she's never seen him before in her life. 

His brow furrows as he completes his own study of Georgie before recognition flits over his features. "You bear my mark," he muses, and her stomach does an unsettling plummet as it dawns on her. 

"You are the End." The name is cold on her tongue and it's hard to swallow. 

He makes a face at that and purses his lips. "Oliver is fine. _The End_ sounds so..." 

"Dramatic?" 

"I was going to say 'final', but yes." He gives her an absent smile. "That too." 

Georgie wavers in her spot, unwilling to step into the lake a second time. "Why are you here?" she asks, even though she doesn't want to know the answer. "Are you here for—" 

Oliver shakes his head. "No, not... in the way you're thinking." 

"He's either dead or he's not." 

"You should know better than most that it isn't so simple, Necromancer." 

Georgie winces. "True." 

Oliver steps through the water to stand before her. No ripples emanate from his passing, nor does it seem to hinder him anyway. "Are you the one who gave him my mark?" 

"No, he didn't know when we—" Georgie passes her hand over her face with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, how do you know Jon?" 

"Yours aren't the only dreams I'm able to enter." He hesitates, then makes an awkward cough in the back of his throat. "Let me rephrase that. I haven't been able to enter the Archivist's, but I have seen many leading to him." 

She tilts her head, considering. "What do you mean?" 

He waves a hand and the scene around them shifts. No longer are they standing at the edge of the lake. Instead, the color drains from the scene and thick dark cables stretch across the place. Now, finally, Georgie can see the spirits flooding into the water. 

Her breath catches when she notices the shape of Jon lying prone in the center of the lake. "No—" she gasps, the ragged sound catching on the edges of her emotions. She takes the first step into the water, but Oliver's hand snags her bicep and he tugs her back. 

"That's only a piece of him," he says, his voice even and firm. He has to give her a little shake, but all it does is pull a tired whimper from her. "It is almost morning. Stay where you are, and I will find you." 

Georgie can't tear her eyes away from Jon, who _looks_ whole, in the same way that the rest of the lost and wandering spirits around them do. His eyes are closed, as if in peaceful sleep — and she could almost trick herself into thinking that if it wasn't for the cords that wrap around his arms like crawling vines. The ones that burrow beneath his skin, searching for something. 

"Necromancer. Look at me." 

She does. Through a tremendous force of will, she does. "Where is he?" 

Oliver's face is expressionless, and she can't decide if that helps or not. "I'll explain later. Rest at your camp. I will be with you before midday." He hesitates, then gives her bicep what could charitably be called a 'reassuring pat' before he's gone, and with it, the scene of the lake. 

For a moment, she is left in a liminal space — somewhere between sleeping and waking, somewhere between living and dying. For a moment, she can feel nothing and everything, stretching to the far reaches of the world. 

And then her eyes open, and the dappled sunrise dances across her upturned face, and a tired, earth-weary sigh slips from between her lips. 

* * *

The silence of the camp is broken by the sound of a blade over a whetstone. 

Georgie bites the inside of her cheeks, and Oliver looks _uncomfortable_. Which she never thought an avatar of the End could manage, yet there he sits. 

Finally, she clears her throat and says, "Melanie, love, could you—" 

"Hmm?" Melanie tests the edge of the blade against the pad of her thumb. "Oh, I'm sorry, am I disturbing your guest?" 

"Melanie—" 

"The physical embodiment of death, who is sitting at our campfire. That one?" 

Georgie glances at Oliver apologetically. 

"I am still flesh and blood," he says. "And honestly, I would rather not find out how _much_ blood I have, if it's all the same." 

Melanie's grin is nearly as sharp as her knife. "You can see my mark, can't you?" 

He starts to nod, then clears his throat. "Yes. What's left of it." 

"It's all gone now! I'm harmless!" She holds up her hands as if to demonstrate, but one hand holds the knife and the other the whetstone and Georgie _knows_ for a fact that she could throw either with astonishing accuracy. 

Georgie reaches over and lets the tip of her fingers graze Melanie's knee. "He's here to help." 

Melanie gives a put upon frown as she returns the knife to its sheath on her thigh. "You understand why I'm cautious, don't you?" 

"Of course I do." 

"Also I'm just not too fond of you meeting men in your dreams." She says this like a joke, but Georgie remembers how upset she was when she learned about the way Georgie and Jon would still meet. 

Georgie knows that her relationship with Jon would never be more than friends, but Melanie was there for their breakup, was there to comfort Georgie after that fight. So it's the fact that Jon still means the world to her — that she would be willing to go through whatever all this is to save him — that Melanie hates. 

"I've apologized for intruding," Oliver says. "But I'm guessing this goes beyond just how Georgie and I happened to wind up in the same place at the same time." 

"A bit," Melanie concedes. She huffs a breath and crosses her arms over her chest. "Alright, fine. I accept your apology, and I promise I won't threaten you with any weapons." 

He purses his lips, but Georgie gives him an encouraging nod so he sighs. "Thank you. Now, to explain what I couldn't before: I think that what you saw in your first dream wasn't... a _dream_." 

"The space I would normally find Jon was closed off. Like a barrier put up over the space we made." Georgie picks at her shawl, and watches the Admiral sniff tentatively at Oliver's boot. "I don't normally do that sort of traveling. It's a normal dream, or it's that space only." 

"The lake is a real place. For instance, I would not have been able to enter that shared dream space you have with Jon." Oliver hesitates as he notices the little dragon, then reaches out a hand. 

The Admiral sniffs that as well then nudges it with his head before wandering off. 

He folds his hands back into his lap and returns his attention to Georgie. "But you were drawn there, twice. Which is what led me to believe that you are the one that first marked him with the End." 

"If I did it was unintentional. I started to study Necromancy while he and I were in university together, but he didn't start work at the Institute until a few years later." She pauses and sketches the warding sigils she uses in her spellwork into the dirt as she thinks. "You said that what I saw there was only a piece of him. Where are the rest?" 

"Shattered, I think." 

Melanie gives a quick bark of laughter. "I always knew that man was fragile, but that's something else." 

Oliver's frown doesn't have the impact he probably thinks it should have. "What do you know of his work at the Archives? Either of you."

"You mean asides from being a general nuisance and getting people into trouble?" Melanie asks innocently. 

"He investigates futures from the Watcher," Georgie adds. "Figuring out which are likely possibilities or ways to prevent them from happening, and so on." 

"I see. And you mentioned this thing made of eyes?" 

Melanie shivers, but doesn't say anything. 

"He wasn't fighting it — at least, not until I arrived. I think..." Georgie swallows down the lump in her throat at the memory. "I wasn't supposed to be there. Whatever happened to him is my fault—" 

"No," Melanie says, shifting to her knees and reaching for Georgie. "No, it's not. He knew what he was doing." 

She ducks her head so that Oliver can't see whatever expression she's making. "Did he, though?" 

"I've seen him at work. You've only talked to him about whatever happened _after_. If he didn't know the full picture of what he was getting into, then that was his own damn fault—" 

"But I interrupted whatever was happening!" 

Oliver coughs politely. "If I can interject..." 

Melanie's grip tightens around Georgie's arm, but she doesn't stop him. 

"There are rituals involved with these powers that we serve. Things that make Georgie and I different in our attachment to the End, for instance. Things that made it possible for your connections to be severed, Melanie." 

Her features twist, but her gaze remains focused on the patch of grass just past Georgie's knees. "And what happened to _you_?" 

He lifts his hands in a way that might be a shrug. "I died." 

Melanie whips around to face him. "I thought you said you were flesh and blood," she says, and there is a low, dangerous tone to her words that Georgie tries to smooth over with a touch. 

"One can have died and still be flesh and blood." 

"So you're a zombie?" 

Oliver's frown is so remarkably like Jon's that Georgie almost laughs. "No." 

"It's a complicated thing," Georgie finally says, letting her fingers run through the flyaway strands of Melanie's hair. Oliver was right — things aren't as simple as being alive or not, especially not in service of the End. "So you think that what I stumbled into was Jon attempting... a ritual with the Eye?" 

"That would be my best guess." 

"Why there, at that lake?" 

He hums in thought and scratches his chin. "It's a space that belongs to the Dark and the End. Perhaps they thought it was neutral to their presence." 

"Then the piece of him I saw... That was the one belonging to the End?" 

Oliver nods. "My theory after seeing that piece of him is that all the forces with the marks he owns tried to claim what is theirs." 

Melanie's lips settle into a thin line, and Georgie knows she's thinking about the time she stabbed him while still under the influence of the Slaughter. 

"Why have you not claimed yours?" Georgie asks, stomach clenching in concern. "Why even talk to us at all?" 

There's a sudden and overwhelming sense of exhaustion coming from Oliver, and he doubles over to sit with his hands folded behind his head. "I can't see the future. Not really. I can see the ends of lives, how they die. I tried to warn the previous Head Archivist, but—" 

"Gertrude?" Melanie's face tilts back in Georgie's direction. "What does Gertrude have to do with this?" 

Oliver shrugs before rubbing his hands over the back of his head and through his hair. "I honestly don't know for certain, but if I had to hazard a guess, it would be that the Eye wanted a new Archivist. And it found a willing one in Jon." 

He sits back upright and sighs. "You need to go to the lake where the ritual was interrupted, because that's where you'll find the piece of him claimed by the End. I've left it in possession of someone who has a connection to the Eye as well, so it should be easier to find." 

"Implying... what? That Georgie is going to have to take it for herself?" The snarl is back to Melanie's words, though her face remains in control.

"She's not connected to the Eye, so I don't think it will be that easy." He gives Melanie a brief look, considering, then shakes his head. "I've slowed down the process as best I can, but if you don't hurry then I'm afraid there won't be anything left of him to reclaim."

The Admiral jumps into Georgie's lap, startling her out of her thoughts. He chirps and bumps her chin with the top of his head. 

"We were going to head to the Archives. They would be able to help..." 

Oliver shakes his head again. "They are headed to the lake now." When he catches the surprised expression on Georgie's face, he gives a faint smile and another shrug of his shoulders. "Remember what I said about being able to see the ends of lives? I saw one trail leading to the lake from the Archives. I'd rather hope you'd be able to stop that death, and if anyone can, it's you." 

"And what about you?" 

"I... have interfered enough. I'm technically an observer, but already I've saved that piece of Jon and have told you what to do." Oliver pushes himself to his feet and dusts off his coattails. 

Melanie scoffs. "What a piss-poor excuse."

"Melanie—" 

Oliver's jaw tightens. "No, it's fine. It is a coward's retreat, I acknowledge that. But there's not much that I can do, beyond what I have. All I can do is watch, and I think perhaps the End finds that more of a joke than anything else." He closes his eyes and sighs. "Because all I can _do_ is watch."

"You've been extremely helpful, thank you," Georgie says before Melanie can cut in with another remark. She understands, and she knows that if it had been any one else besides Jon, she would not be so eager to act. 

She rises to her feet and holds out her hand to Oliver. "I suppose you know where to find me if you need anything."

He accepts the hand for a shake, clasping hers warmly between his own. "Good luck, Necromancer," he says. Then, after a beat, he adds, "You as well, Melanie. Look after her."

Melanie laughs at that, but it's at least an amused sound, and Oliver winces as soon as he realizes. "You're alright, Mister Zombie."

Oliver opens his mouth, closes it, then sighs. "Right... _Right_." With one final nod to Georgie he turns and heads back off into the forest. 

Georgie stands there for a moment longer, watching his retreating form get swallowed up by the shadows. "Well. Shall we?" 

"I suppose I have a choice, but you know what my answer will be." Melanie clambers to her feet as well. Her fingers land on Georgie's wrist before sliding down to join their hands together. "I hope you know where you're going because _I_ sure don't." 

She laughs and presses a kiss to Melanie's cheek. "I'll get us there safely." 

"Good. Guess I need to prepare to face my old coworkers, huh?" 

"I'm sorry you have to go through this with me..." 

Melanie blows out a puff of air between her lips and taps the back of Georgie's hand with the tips of her fingers. "I would never expect you to do something like this on your own." Her expression softens and she leans into Georgie's space and tilts her head up. "I will always be here with you." 

Georgie smiles as she gives Melanie a kiss, and squeezes her hand. 

Melanie returns the kiss happily, and steals another two before finally stepping back. "Now let's go save that Archivist of ours, hm?" 

"Yeah," Georgie says, mustering all the confidence she can. "Let's go save Jon."

**Author's Note:**

> oh this is IT, FAM!!!! I mentioned wanting to work on a giant fantasy AU and, guess what, I wrote it in three weeks over the month of May. It will start going up July 1st, so be sure to follow the the series on AO3 for those updates! I am super excited for it, and I think you'll be excited to see how this ties in ;) 
> 
> And you remembered that art I mentioned from Lu? You have to _absolutely_ check out their art!! You might have seen a smaller version of it on my tumblr, but [please check out the full version here on their twitter](https://twitter.com/smallpolar_bear/status/1248377134545952769).


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